because..stalking dad will help

'Twould seem mental fucked upness is the order of the week.
My father's and my relationship has suddenly hit a new level of strangeness.

I have become his dating counsellor.

Perhaps he thinks I'm an expert in serial monogamy (which isn't completely irrational, let's face it). But dad now asks me for dating advice.

It's flattering and I suppose it means he views me an adult now, not just his little girl. It's still a bit odd though, telling him what to do in order to seal a deal.

However. I got an interesting call over the weekend from one of the women who has taken a distinctly Fatal Instinctesque liking to my father. So much so, she's literally gone psycho. Or perhaps she always was. But, she found my number on his phone and called me after too many drinks at the pub, clearly.

Mad as a Hatter, wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise, although I certainly tried: Listen, he's not responsible for you. And telling me you had an argument with him and you want to kill him isn't what I want to hear, lady.

Psycho babble persists.

I phoned my level-headed uncle with some consternation, because dad had obviously switched his phone off at this point.

Nut jobs. I'm talking deranged lunacy here. If there's one thing I can't teach dad it seems, it's avoiding nut jobs. This wouldn't be the first time, might I add.
I have had interesting calls from one of mum's wayward lovers before too.
The fun and games never end in this family.

When my mum was creaming the dating scene, one man used to phone me at all hours of the morning, after a few too many whiskeys, expressing his undying love for my mother. It ended badly and sadly.

It's odd being phoned by people nuttier than a fruitcake who have the hots for my parents.

It's even odder being the one telling it to them as it is: “I'm sorry, but I just can't help you.” And that's when they're actually listening, because usually they're flying off the handle.

Just another day in the life of Mr O'Toast. He'd better get his new dog 'Norman' after all, and make sure it's a Rottweiler.

I'm feeling bleak at the moment. This, spending yesterday in bed with excruciating cramps, being slightly broke, and feeling a bit ugly, fat and bloated, I suppose, doesn't help.